


no reason for letting go

by sabinelagrande



Series: Modern Romance [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Dom Melinda May, Dom Phil Coulson, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fisting, Kneeling, Multi, Sub Jemma Simmons, Threesome - F/F/M, Warning: Threesomes Are Extremely Awesome, crawling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma's night isn't over; why would she want it to be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	no reason for letting go

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place directly after the end of [we were making it right](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2564039), so it probably makes at least a little more sense if you've read that one first.

When Jemma wakes up, there's a hand in her hair, brushing it back from her face, and it feels so nice, that simple touch. She considers pretending she's still asleep, but that's probably not going to work very well; in point of fact, she's caught before she even decides whether to try.

"Get up and put your clothes on," Melinda says, and Jemma wonders how long she's been asleep.

"Is it morning?" she asks blearily.

"No," Melinda says, looking amused. "I want you to put your clothes on so you don't walk to the bathroom and back naked."

"Right," she says, sitting up, getting out of bed. Her clothes have been gathered into a convenient pile, although her bra and panties are missing; she doesn't look around for them, because she suspects they were deliberately omitted. Very reluctantly, she slips out of Phil's jacket, laying it across his dresser. She hopes she hasn't gotten it too terribly sweaty, because she knows he does have to wear it; she also wants to never, ever give it back.

She's dressed soon enough, and Melinda opens the door, scanning the hallway before she lets Jemma leave. When she was undercover, Jemma did not miss communal bathrooms in any way. They are particularly awkward when you're trying not to broadcast the fact that you've been having sex with someone- or someones- that you, all things considered, probably shouldn't be having sex with; Jemma hasn't seen herself, but she suspects her hair alone says it all right now.

Miraculously, the bathroom is empty, and she actually doesn't look as wrecked as she feels. When she's done in the bathroom, she walks back to Phil's room, rapping on the door before she enters. This time, she's smart enough to inspect the room immediately. Melinda is still there, and Phil is back, but otherwise the room is clear. She shuts the door behind her, locking it preemptively, and tries to focus on not making a running leap into Phil's arms.

It works out anyway, because when she walks over, he immediately puts his arms around her, kissing her forehead. "You took a nap?" he asks.

"Yes, sir," she replies, laying her cheek against his shoulder.

"Good," he says. "You looked like you needed it."

Jemma sighs. "Yes, sir."

"I have a proposition for you," Phil says slyly; he's actually not very good at sounding sly, but it is endearing when he tries.

"Oh?" Jemma says.

"We-" Phil says, cocking his head towards Melinda. "I'm speaking for Melinda here, but I think this once she's okay with it- we were thinking about keeping you here all night and doing whatever we wanted to you."

Jemma's stomach clenches; she thinks about it for a moment, though it isn't at all a hard decision. It's a thing she'd very much love to do, just let herself be a toy for them, a thing they can use, and she can't think of a day she needs it more, the opportunity to shut herself off and stop worrying. She needs her world narrowed like that, where her responsibilities can be nothing more than staying where she's put.

"Yes, sir," she says. " _Please_ let me."

He bends down, kissing her. "I figured you'd say something like that," he says, before letting her go. "Strip. I don't want to hear you talk unless it's to give your safeword."

Jemma bites down her urge to respond, undressing instead, folding her clothes before she sets them aside.

Phil gives Melinda a look. "Did you steal her underwear?"

Melinda shrugs. "She didn't need it."

"It's not even your size," he points out.

"I'm going to give it back," she says, still unconcerned.

"Bend over the bed," Phil says, looking at Jemma.

Jemma considers briefly trying to be seductive or sultry, before she remembers that she's not particularly good at either of those things. Bending over a bed completely naked should be seduction enough; it seems to work on Phil, because he steps up behind her, nudging her legs apart. He runs her hands over her, down her back and onto her ass, lower, spreading her apart.

She still feels wet and loose, because it hasn't been all that long since he fucked her; his fingers slide easily inside, and she puts her face down against the bed, relaxing as he starts to move them in and out. It feels good, good enough that she gets distracted by it, doesn't anticipate what's coming next. It doesn't even occur to her to think about it until Phil pulls his fingers out; she hears the click of a bottle opening, and then Phil's fingers are back, cool and slick now, his fingertips pressing carefully into her ass.

Jemma doesn't actually have much of an opinion about anal sex; it's probably something one should feel strongly about, but she doesn't particularly like it and doesn't particularly hate it. When it's like this, though, it's incredibly exciting, the feeling that nothing of hers is off limits, that every inch of her is ripe for the taking.

Phil's fingers are in her deep now, spreading her open, and she almost wants to protest when he takes them out. She waits impatiently, not knowing what's going to happen; she hears the bottle again, and then something is pressing against her entrance, blunt and smooth. It doesn't take her long to figure out it's a plug, the way it widens gradually. It's almost too much when it gets to its widest point, but then it suddenly narrows back down again. Phil pushes it in until the flared base is flush with her ass; it feels strange, to say the least, being held open and ready like that.

She is unreasonably turned on.

Phil is still there, and Jemma expects that he'll probably fuck her; she frowns when he lets her go, moving away. "Stand," he says, and she isn't exactly sure if that's a thing that's going to happen. When she hesitates, he slaps her ass, and she wishes very suddenly she hadn't hesitated. It's a bit awkward, but she does manage to stand up somehow. "Turn around," he orders. He's already walking away, going to sit down in his chair, and Jemma knows she is definitely in for it.

"On your knees," Phil says, and Jemma tries not to look shocked; from his expression, she knows she doesn't succeed. She's very cognizant of the fact that Melinda is looking at her too, studying her, and suddenly her need to do the best she can far outweighs the danger of looking like an idiot. She carefully lowers herself, using the bed as a support to ease herself down. 

"Good," Phil says; Jemma already knows what he's going to say next. "Crawl to me."

Phil is a bastard.

She does it anyway, moving carefully on her hands and knees, trying not to look like too much of a fool. She finally reaches him, sitting back on her heels and looking up at his face. Phil is not at all looking at her like he thinks she's an idiot; he looks more like he's trying to think of the best way to eat her alive.

Melinda walks over, standing behind Phil's chair and putting her arms around his neck. She bends down, kissing his cheek, and Phil turns his head, kissing her properly; for a moment, it's like Jemma isn't there, the two of them wrapped up in each other.

"What are you doing?" Phil asks, as she puts her chin on his shoulder.

"Watching," Melinda says.

"I'm not doing anything yet," Phil points out.

"I think we all know what you're about to do," Melinda says.

"You have no respect for the element of surprise," Phil tells her. He turns back to Jemma, looking her over, and Jemma feels hot under their combined gaze. "Clasp your hands behind your back," Phil orders, and she does it quickly. Phil runs his foot up the inside of her thigh. "Very good."

Jemma thinks she might die waiting- she knows it's deliberately done, building up the anticipation, but that doesn't make it any more bearable- but finally Phil reaches for his belt, unbuckling it and undoing his fly, pulling his cock free.

"I don't want to come right now," Phil warns her, putting a hand on the back of her neck. "Take it slow."

He pulls her forward, and she obediently opens her mouth, letting him feed her his cock. It's hard to go any faster than he wants her to, because with her hands behind her back, she doesn't have much say in how it happens. She just lets herself sink into it, lets him lead her where he wants her to go, lets herself be used. It's easy to do, when she's primed for it, ready to do anything that's asked of her.

Phil and Melinda are talking, but for the life of her, she doesn't know whether they're talking to her or to each other. No one's asked her to respond, so she decides not to worry about it, focuses on her task instead. The plug inside her is a constant weight, one she's reminded of every time she moves; her whole body is thrumming, energized, ready. The insides of her thighs are wet, have been for a while, and she wants so badly to be filled, to be given more.

Still and yet, she hasn't changed position, hasn't moved except when Phil has moved her. She must doing well, satisfying him, because he's pushing up into her mouth, his cock hitting the back of her throat. He holds her down for a long moment, and she tries to convince herself not to choke; she thinks he's going to come, but then he lets her up, guiding her backwards and taking his hand away.

"Good girl," he says, stroking his hand over her hair. "Such a good girl for me." Jemma leans into his touch, and Phil snorts in amusement. "C'mon," he says, getting out of his chair. "Stand up and turn around."

He offers her a hand for support as she stands, kissing her before he puts his hands on her shoulders and turns her around. She'd been wondering where Melinda got to, and she has her answer: she's on the bed, laying back with her arms behind her head, and she is wearing a considerably large strap-on.

Jemma's knees don't give out, but it's a near thing.

She is now _very_ clear on what's about to happen to her, and it is both very daunting and very alluring. Phil prods her in the back, pushing her along towards the bed; walking with the plug still in is a little bit of an interesting experience, but she manages. Melinda doesn't wait for her to react, pulling her onto the bed and into her lap, making Jemma straddle her. There's no time wasted; Melinda just holds the strap-on steady and pushes up into Jemma's cunt, not giving her a choice but to sink down on it.

Despite its size, it slides in easily, until a point, but then it feels very odd and uncomfortable for a moment as the plug shifts. It doesn't last long though, the discomfort fading as things settle; Melinda seems to know when she's ready, because just as soon as Jemma starts to feel like she can handle it, Melinda starts moving, pushing deep inside of her. She puts her hands on Jemma's hips, controlling her movements, her speed, and even though Jemma is ostensibly in the driver's seat, she doesn't feel that way at all. It isn't a bad thing, not at a time like this; there's nothing she wants more than to let Melinda do it, take whatever Melinda wants to give her.

Jemma is starting to wonder if the thing about not having to ask to come is still in effect when she feels a hand on her back, pushing her forwards. She braces herself on her hands, trying not to tense, because she knows perfectly well what's coming; Melinda twines her hand in Jemma's hair, pulling her down and kissing her, very clearly a distraction but definitely a welcome one.

Melinda stills inside of her, and the next thing she feels are Phil's hands, spreading her open; the plug comes out more easily than it went in, which is definitely a plus. She feels loose and empty, and she really can't decide if she'd rather him push straight in or stop entirely. All she knows is that she wants it to happen _soon_.

"Just relax," he says, stroking his hands over her back. "You can take it."

She knows she can take it, and she knows she'll probably like it a lot, but that doesn't make it the least bit easier to mentally prepare. Thankfully, Phil doesn't give her any more time to do it; just like that he's easing inside of her, little by little. She feels amazingly full by the time he's all the way inside of her, fuller than she thought she could get, more than she's ever felt before.

And then Phil and Melinda both start moving, pushing in one after the other, working in counterpoint; Jemma buries her face in the pillow next to Melinda's head and hopes that it's enough to muffle her scream.

"Good scream?" Phil asks, and Jemma nods fervently. "Good. Because I don't feel like stopping."

Jemma couldn't muster a response if she tried; her brain is completely gone, everything reduced to just the feeling of them fucking her, filling her up, thrusting in so deep and hard that Jemma can't think straight. It feels so good, and it feels even better to just forget, lose herself in it, be nothing except something they use.

She has no sense of time, no conception of how long it lasts. Phil is close, but Melinda isn't far behind; Jemma knows how much Melinda likes fucking her like this, how the pressure of the strap-on and the rush from the power of it all are enough to bring her off. She grabs Jemma's hair hard, kissing her hard, biting at her lips, and Jemma can see when she loses control, breaking away and moaning, her eyes dark and satisfied.

Phil puts his hands around her waist, holding her still; she knows he's almost there by the way he's moving, hard and fast, his rhythm starting to break up, become ragged. She's aware that she's not going to come, but she wants him to so badly, wants him to get it from her, use her to get there. She moans, arching her back, trying the best she can to take him deeper, not that she really can; it doesn't matter, because soon enough he pushes in hard, coming deep inside of her.

She's very glad it's not up to her to do any of the moving, because she honestly doesn't know if she can. By necessity, Phil moves first; he's slow and careful as he pulls out, but it's still a little painful- though it was completely worth it. He almost has to lift her bodily off Melinda, because she's little help. With some assistance, she manages to end up on her back on the bed next to Melinda, who kisses her before she stands up. 

Melinda and Phil start doing the sorts of things that you have to do at a time like this, disposing of condoms, cleaning things up, and Jemma feels slightly disappointed. She can deal with not coming, but she could have handled more; those are famous last words, she knows, which is precisely why does doesn't say them.

Phil climbs back onto the bed, nudging her legs apart; he gently cleans her, checking her carefully. That's when Jemma starts to get the sense that her night is not over, because Phil is taking an awful lot of time, more than she'd expect. If she were done, he'd just send her to the shower and that would be that. It very much isn't.

Her suspicions are more or less confirmed when Phil slides his fingers into her again, fucking her slowly on them. She already feels loose, stretched out, and it's not particularly hard to take three of his fingers, especially when she still hasn't come, when she really wants it. She cants her hips up, trying to convey how much she wants it, but Phil puts a hand on her hip, holding her down.

"You're gonna want to stop that," he says. "I might be tempted to rush, and Melinda's hands are a lot smaller than mine."

"Not that much smaller," Melinda says, looking at her own hand contemplatively.

"I'm pretty sure that in this case, every little bit counts," Phil says. 

Jemma is just sitting there, her eyes wide, unable to react; Phil seems to notice finally, looking her over, considering her.

"Do you know what to say if you want to stop?" Phil asks. His voice is gentle; he sounds genuine, like he's concerned about her comfort, not like he's mocking her or daring her. Jemma nods, and Phil strokes her thigh soothingly, calming her. "Are you going to say it?"

It is a very big question. They've talked about doing this before, and Jemma has very much wanted to try it; it's just that this is a bit more precipitous than she expected. She knows they'll stop if she wants, that everything that happens to her is ultimately her decision, no matter what it looks like.

She shakes her head.

"Good," Phil says, kissing her. He gets up, and Jemma feels uncomfortable and lonely for a moment; it's only a moment, because then Melinda is there to take his place. Melinda looks around, confused, but then Phil produces a pillow wrapped in a towel. Melinda rolls her eyes, and Jemma knows very clearly that he's been hiding it, which really is Phil all over. Melinda pushes at Jemma's hips until she gets the hint, lifting up off the bed long enough for Melinda to put the pillow underneath her.

"Bend your knees and put your feet on the bed," Melinda tells her, and Jemma does it. "Are you nervous?" she asks, and Jemma nods; Melinda leans down, kissing her. "Don't be."

That is a very tall order, especially now that Melinda is pulling on a black nitrile glove. Jemma didn't actually know black nitrile gloves were a thing, but it makes the whole thing seem less medical, which for some reason is better for her. She's very aware that she's fixating on this detail so that she won't concentrate on Melinda's hand itself, the fact that now she's covering her fingers with lubricant, the thought of what she's about to do with it.

Jemma is slightly startled when the bed moves. "Just me," Phil says. He gets in behind her, rearranging them so that her head is resting on his thigh. He cards his fingers through her hair, and Jemma shuts her eyes, convincing herself to calm down. "That's right," he says encouragingly. "You just relax. We're not finished with you." He leans down, kissing her on the forehead. "I'm going to find out how good it looks when you come with Melinda's whole hand inside of you."

That is not a statement Jemma was expecting to hear so suddenly or so blatantly; she is also not expecting that to be the moment Melinda pushes three fingers inside of her. Something about it sounds so good that way, though, like she's just been thinking about it upside down. This is something she's going to take because it's what Phil and Melinda want her to take; she's not going to disappoint them, not when all she has to do is something she knows she wants anyway.

Melinda's hands are definitely smaller than Phil's; four of her fingers go in without much trouble. Jemma had lost some of her excitement in the midst of being scared, but it feels good now, Melinda's fingers pushing deeper inside of her, filling her up. She doesn't even really process what's happening when Melinda starts to bring her fingers together, her thumb slipping in beside them. It's hard to hold still when she feels Melinda's knuckles, but then they're in, and Melinda is curling her hand, and that's it.

Jemma looks down, and what she sees is really kind of amazing; Melinda moves her hand just a bit, and what she feels is phenomenal. If she thought she'd been full, she was wrong, because nothing's ever come close to comparing to this. It feels like Melinda is taking up every little bit of space that she has, taking her over completely- which is, after all, exactly what she wanted so badly. She feels like there's nothing left, everything laid open, exposed to them, like everything is theirs.

She also feels like she has something enormous inside her cunt, and she really doesn't know which part she likes better.

"That's what I want," Phil says, reaching down to pinch Jemma's nipple, and she cries out; when she moves, Melinda's fist moves inside of her, and Phil has to put his hand over Jemma's mouth so that the entire base doesn't come running when she screams. 

He doesn't take it away, which is good; Melinda starts moving her hand, and Jemma can't seem to keep the sound in, can't stop making noise. Every movement feels like it's setting off sparks, flashes that sing up her spine. She's on fire all over, and she feels like she might burn right up, sizzle away until there's nothing left.

She hasn't even really done anything, she doesn't think, but there's still sweat soaking into her hair, beading on her forehead and her neck. Melinda is still moving, not fast but inexorable, lighting Jemma up over and over again. She doesn't know how much longer she can take it, not when it's this fucking good, when it feels like every single second brings her closer.

"Come on, girl," Melinda says, her voice hard. "You're going to come for me. Now."

Melinda moves her hand just so, and Jemma does it, bucking hard enough that Phil and Melinda both have to hold her down. It seems like it happens forever, like it crashes through her again and again and again. She shakes with it, her whole body moving like she's being hit by bursts of electricity over and over.

She has no idea how long it lasts, because she loses track of everything for a while, quite possibly blacks out for a moment or two- or at least that's what it feels like. It hurts when Melinda slowly eases her hand out, but in a distant sort of way; she mostly just feels sore and empty and so very, _very_ satisfied.

Phil is still cradling her head, stroking her hair, and Jemma knows that she can't take any more, that she's all used up, spent. "Sir," she says, her voice rough and shaky. "Ma'am-"

"Shh," Phil says. "Don't worry about it. You don't have to do anything else. You did so good for us. Relax."

"You earned it," Melinda says, sounding both amused and proud.

Jemma doesn't think she can say anything else, doesn't know if she has any words to give, even now that she can say them. She just turns her head, resting her cheek against Phil's thigh, and lets things happen. He and Melinda have things under control, because that's what they do, that's what they _are_ for her. Things will be just fine.

At least for right now, that is a thing she can wholeheartedly believe.

\--

Jemma is extraordinarily sore.

Last night, after a certain point, is a bit of a blur. Melinda eventually took her to the shower and got her cleaned up; she possibly remembers some kissing, probably some touching, but as far as she's concerned that's an excellent thing to do in the shower. Melinda brought her back and dried her off and put her in bed with Phil, who proceeded to hold her until morning, his arms firm and reassuring around her. She definitely remembers expressing her gratitude when she woke up; the rest of her body is one solid ache, but her mouth feels perfectly fine, thank you.

Well. It did when she woke up, anyway.

And now she is attempting to go about her day and comport herself in a manner which does not suggest that she'd very much like to spend the rest of her life in an ice bath. She thinks she's doing a fairly good job, even if she's turned down at least three attempts by well-meaning people to give her a lab stool. She feels good, relaxed, centered, and she has no real reason to act like she isn't. Today is a good day, and she is going to enjoy it.

She thinks this is a fine plan, but then she sees Skye; Skye is grinning widely, and Jemma is instantly suspicious.

Skye smacks her on the shoulder blade, which is one of the few parts of her that doesn't hurt at all. "I can't believe you went up against Melinda," she says. 

Doing undercover work did make Jemma marginally better at not panicking and shrieking when caught, and in this particular case, that skill is very thoroughly tested. "Oh?" she says.

"Yeah, I didn't think you could take it," Skye says, looking impressed. "It's not exactly easy. I mean, the first time I did it, I was sore for two whole days."

"Oh no, it's somewhat difficult," Jemma says, not volunteering any information. She knows intellectually that she is not in the middle of the conversation she thinks she's in, that there is some kind of miscommunication going on here; that is not making her heart stop racing.

"Sucks you fell, though," Skye continues, wincing sympathetically, and there, Jemma's got it, the conversation Skye thinks they're having. Jemma doesn't know what been said, but she can fake her way through this one, she's fairly sure.

Jemma tries to look sheepish. "I was sort of hoping that would pass without comment, but it doesn't seem to have, has it?"

"Nope," Skye says, grinning. She dearly loves Skye, but Jemma almost wants to laugh at the way she thinks she's got Jemma all figured out, when she's actually quite oblivious. "You should totally be proud, though, especially since you've never sparred with her before. That shit is not easy."

"Oh, I know," Jemma says, quite genuinely. " _Trust_ me, I know."

Jemma doesn't run into Melinda until after lunch; they meet by accident, going down the same hallway at the same time. "Thank you for the cover," Jemma says, stopping, her voice low despite the fact that there's no one around.

"That was all the Director," Melinda says, turning to look at her. "I think he thinks it's funny."

"Well, it is sort of funny," Jemma points out, and Melinda shrugs. "Either way, thank you both."

"We'll always have you covered," Melinda says. "You should know that already."

She walks away before Jemma can process all the implications of that statement. She's really not sure she can tease it out, but she's not sure she needs to. She certainly gets the gist, and that's all she really needs, the knowledge that she's in good hands, that she's cared for.

Today is a good day. She'd be a fool not to enjoy it.


End file.
